


The Lost Heir - Book 1

by Harbinger_Of_Script



Series: The Lost Heir [1]
Category: Invader Zim
Genre: 48 Units is Equal to one Klick Or one Foot, Action, Adventure, Alternate History, Alternate Past/Present/Future, Bondeds/Mates, Custom Units of Measurement!, Descriptions of bullying, F/M, Family, Four Units is Equal to One Set Or One Inch, Gen, Horror, Invasions, Irken Empire, Irken Physiology Free-Form, Irken Schooling, Irken Technology, Kalian Alliance, Leadership Free-form, Military Free-form, Minor Character Death, Multi, Mystery, One Unit is Equal to a Fourth Inch, Other, Resistance of Allied Systems(RAS), Romance, Royal Families, Space Battles, Treachery/Betrayal, Twenty One Thousand One Hundred And Twenty Units is Equal to One Measure Or One Mile, descriptions of abuse, descriptions of violence, extreme loyalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6681727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harbinger_Of_Script/pseuds/Harbinger_Of_Script
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zim is the last “Natural Born” of his race, as well as being the last in line for the throne of the Irken Empire. When his is only but a few hours old, he is taken from his home in a desperate attempt to save what remains of the Royal family from an Empire wide Coup! With the help of a few Loyalists, Zim's Saviors manage to hide him away, right under the noses of their enemies, but far from prying eyes.</p><p>Almost three thousand years pass in the time it takes Zim the be awakened once again... And the Empire is nothing like it used to be. Evil, far darker than the average Irken would be comfortable with, plagues the higher echelons of the Irken Government. As Zim progresses through his life as a Rank and File Irken soldier, he will have a front row seat to the darkest of the Empires Secrets. Can this "One Time Prince" survive in such a dark world? Or will he fall to its whims... Or worse, bend to its will, and become the worst of them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lost Heir - Book 1

“His Majesties house has been assaulted! Over a thousand Trai- (BANG)” The Irken reporter is shot, his small green body falling to the ground off screen as wisps of ozone float up from his body. His replacement, a much gruffer looking Irken, soon taking his place. The weapon of choice that had just killed the reporter in his hand as he looks into the screen.

“My fellow Irkens! The false Emperor is dead! The false Ruler of our magnificent Empire is dead! Long live the Emperor!” He shouts, right before shooting the camera and ending the broadcast.

 

* * *

 

 

“Run Yol! Run!” Mol shouts as he looses red tinted plasma bolts down range past the running form of Yol. Both Tallers are on the run from the traitorous hierarchy. Yol, the Mistress of War, whom is also carrying a small bundle in her arms is currently trying not to die.

“It would help if you shot worth a shit Mol!” She cries, her long Crimson robes fluttering around her as the bolts of plasma trade back and forth. The two parties, the Loyalists and the Traitors, are currently in pitched combat. The Loyalists trying to get Yol and her package to safety, while on the other hand, the Traitors were trying to kill Yol and take the small bundle from her … All so that they may make an example of it.

“Duck!” Mol shouts, pulling out a TIAR-21 Plasma Rifle. Aiming down range he sights a missile toting Irken and puts a round right between his eyes. Dropping the rocket tube in its side, the rocket inside is then jostled by the fall, making it explode in the tube and kill the surrounding Irkens.

“Nice shot boss!” One of the Loyalists shout, his helmet blown off by a concussion grenade that had been thrown earlier.

“Move that thin ass of yours Yol!” Mol shouts to his bonded mate, his long curved antenna twitching about furiously as he keeps firing shots down range. His black robes pooling at his feet as he kneels to steady his aim as they get farther away.

“I'm moving Mol! Now shut up and shoot!” Yol shouts, leaping over pile after pile of fallen metal supports. Leaping over one particularly high pile, her robes get caught. Not paying them much mind, she rips the long truss like piece of fabric off her robe and keeps running.

Slipping around the corner, shoulder checking Mol slightly, Yol makes it to cover.

“Alright!” an Irken soldier calls, “Lets move!” Everyone, minus Mol begins moving, all of them knowing where they have to go to secure their prince's life. Even if it will be a one way street for them all.

“Mol! We're moving!” Yol yells back, her bonded instincts telling her to go stay with him, where as her loyalty to her lord is telling her to run. Grunting in anger, she shifts her package to her left arm and scoops up a large bolt. Throwing it at her mate, she gets his attention. “Lets go!”

“Go on ahead I'll catch up!” He yells, going back to shooting. Several of the soldiers soon move to enforce their Masters position, each pulling out their own TIAR-21's and joining the fray.

“Fine!” She growls, not liking the situation one bit. “LETS MOVE IT IRKENS!” She shouts, getting the group into a sort of chaotic order.

Sheets of metal and other building materials rain down around them, falling in waves as the city, and the empire, tears itself apart in the wake of the Emperors death. Millions, if not several billions, of lives were fighting for their very existence at this very moment. Even in the skies above Irk, there were hundreds of thousands of Irken's fighting for supremacy, each one fighting for one faction or another.

The bid of power was massive. In an almost sixty forty split in favor of the Traitors, Irken society was thrown into a civil war of the likes none had ever seen. The loyalist forces were being destroyed, almost to a single one as the fights carry on. But they would not, and could not, care about such things. Their only concern was that their rightful Heir would survive, and by the grace of their forethought, he would.

 

* * *

 

 

Yol and her guards run through the streets, their armor protecting them from most light hits they receive as they move. As one rounds a corner though, he is almost instantly reduced to ash as over a hundred bolts of red plasma come flying past, tearing through him like he was not but soft butter.

His body, reduced to ash, falls to the floor.

“By Irk!” A soldier shouts, his face pale after seeing such a gruesome fate.

“Vagner! Concussion, flash, and stun grenades! Now!” Yol yells, not caring about waking her charge anymore, not when facing such opposition. The little smeetling's cries soon echo of the alley's walls, reminding everyone what they were fighting for.

“ON my mark!” Vagner growls. Several grunts ready their grenades. “Mark!” He yells. All the Irkens throw their charges, the small ovoid things bouncing around the far corner and right into the enemy ranks. A dozen explosions later, the group advances.

“How much farther Vagner!” Yol asks, running alongside the Small.

“A dozen or so more blocks Mistress!” He reports, his helmets HUD winking out as he pulls out two Type 1201 Rail Pistols. Their sleek designs letting them sit comfortably in his clawed hands. “There are indications of a cordon up ahead … I want you to swing around the far right with Jar and Med, the rest of us will move off to the left,” Vagner mumbles, just loud enough for Yol to hear.

In Yol's arms, the Smeetling stirs again, his large bulbous, ruby red, eyes searching about inside the blanket. His inner sense of safety having been offset ever since Mol stayed behind to keep their hunters in check. But now, feeling something wrong, he tries to warn his guardian.

“Are you sure this will work Vagner?” Yol asks, her antenna twitching as her large blue eyes search for the impending danger. Having felt her charges unrest, she knew something was wrong, and it wasn't the ones chasing them.

“I'm sure my Mistress,” Vagner nods firmly, his belief in the plan unshakable. “But we must hurry, the cordon may spread wider the longer we wait!” He motions for his two mentioned soldiers to come over, both are Tall Irkens, one a medic, the other Infantry.

“Yes sir?!” they salute, three fingered hands coming up to their brows as they stand before him.

“Run with Mistress Yol, there is a large blockade up ahead and they will try to follow us,” Vagner says sternly. “The reson being is, there is only one exit from this rout, and it leads directly into the enemies midsts... So, you will be going with Mistress Yol and escorting her to the Objective, the rest of us will be drawing the enemies attention onto ourselves so that you three may get away … Is that clear?” He asks them.

“Crystal Clear sir!” They answer, Yol just nods her head affirmatively.

“Good, now lets go!” Vagner shouts.

The smeet in Yol's arms soon eases down, though Yol cannot figure out why this is. Thinking that the danger has passed, she ignores the earlier feeling and moves on.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ten seconds till exit!” Med yells.

“Spread out and arm frags in five!” Vagner orders. Yol, running next to Jar, grabs her own P-44 Plasma Pistol. Knowing that she will be having to defend herself and the smeet, she readies herself.

“You ready Yol!” Vagner asks.

“As I will ever be Sergeant,” Yol thumbs the safety off and spools up her guns plasma coils. The small bulbous weapon was only slightly larger than her hand, even if it was a little heavy, it was a reassuring weight in her hands as she ran.

Several seconds tick by before Vagner shouts again, rooting his soldiers minds to the current situation.

“Prime frags,” He pauses a second longer, “Now!” And with a long series of beeps, ten Fragmentation grenades are primed and ready for death dealing. Four seconds till exit, Vagner motions his men to move up front. Three seconds, they cock their arms back. Two seconds, they wait for his signal. One second, “Throw!” Vagner yells, shocking the Traitorous soldiers before them and sewing chaos as his own soldiers throw their baked armaments. Three short seconds later, the entire front line is demolished in an explosion of fire and smoke.

“All forces, move out!” Vagner shouts. Yol, with Jar and Med trailing behind her, runs off to the far right. Vagner and his remaining eight soldiers proceed to knock over tables and emplacements. Digging in, they begin their firefight in earnest.

“No looking back now soldiers!” Yol shouts to her two guards, suddenly feeling her earlier trepidation resurface. It is nowhere near as strong as it was, but it still leaves a sore spot in her mind at the thought of more danger befalling them before they can get to their final objective.

“How far is it Ma'am!” Jar asks, his TIAR-21 rifle sweeping the path ahead as they move.

“Just a few more blocks and we will be there,” Yol states, her pistol toting arm pointing in a generally eastward direction.

“But that-” Med began to say, before his chest burst apart in a shower of green gore from an explosive slug.

“Ambush!” Jar shouts, pulling Yol down so he can shove her into an open door. Running inside they find that they are now in a large apartment building. Moving to the stair well, they begin to move up.

“Is this wise Mistress Yol?!” Jar asks, his rifle pointing behind them as they move so as to dissuade any tails they might have.

“Its better than being picked off in that death trap we call an alley!” Yol states with a fiery ferocity. Coming to her desired floor, Yol blasts the lock out with her pistol and kicks the door open before running on. Jar, gun swinging round to cover her, following close behind.

“We are going to use these apartments to move up the next three blocks,” Yol informs him, her hand clutching the smeet and pistol tightly. “If memory serves me right, and it usually does, than we will be able to just run from the lest apartment to our destination without being seen... Hopefully.”

“Ma'am,” Jar begins, “What is our destination anyway?” he asks, his rifle swaying casually off to the side as he walks. His antenna twitching about madly as he keeps a heightened sense of his surroundings.

“We are going to the Smeetery...,” Yol tells him. “It is the last place we can successfully hide our charge without any of our enemies finding him … Do you understand the weight of this now Taller Jar?” Yol asks, looking up to the, taller than her, Irken soldier.

“Yes Ma'am. I will ensure that you two make it there as safely as possibly,” Saluting to her, rather sloppily, they continue their run of the apartment structures. Coming to the next flight of stairs, Jar motions his Mistress to stay back. Bringing out his own pistol, along with an Irken combat knife(a ridged hilt with a small red pommel that emits a five inch, low light, energy blade from the top). Holding his knife in a reverse grip, Jar slowly opens the door and checks for any unexpected guests.

Rounding the corner, he is presented with the back of one of the many Irkens that have been trying to kill them all night long. Grinning to himself, he slowly pockets the pistol and goes for the silent kill. Quietly moving up behind the unsuspecting Taller, Jar moves in for the kill.

Sliding the knife up under the base of the man's head, he jams it in, up to the hilt. His hand already covering the man's mouth, he quickly jerks his arms left and right at once, laying the now dead man on the ground he looks for any more intruders.

Seeing none, he moves on to the next floor below him.

“ _Jar, see any thing down there?_ ” Yol asks over the built-in communicator in his helm.

“I found a single Taller marksman here, but I took him out silently … Just a few more seconds my Mistress and I will come back for you,” He informs her, clicking off his com to end the conversation. See a shadow coming from around the next bend, he saddles up to the corner, waiting for his prey to make an appearance.

“Yol … Yol! … Yol, are you in here dammit!” A familiar voice asks, gruff, heavy, and strong.

“Master Mol, is that you!?” Jar asks, still hiding behind the corner. Slipping his knife back into its holster on his chest, Jar trains his pistol at what would be Mol's chest height.

“Soldier? Are Yol and the 'package' safe!?” The other Irken yells.

“I don't know sir, are they?!” Jar yells back, not liking the situation he's now in.

“I would hope so, Vagner sacrificed himself for the little brat anyway!” ' _Mol_ ' stats. His voice changing slightly as he talks. Turning his comm's unit back on, Jar begins relaying his conversation.

“I'm sorry sir, but they aren't with me anymore … _We_ split up when we ran into a patrol a few hallways back,” Jar says, trying to warn his Mistress.

“ _Jar, what are you talking about?”_ Yol asks, her anxiety shining through in her words. “ _We didn't face a – Oh!_ ”

“' _Master Mol'_ what's the status on the men that were following you?” Jar asks. He is now trying to get any kind of information out of the impostor.

“I was able to fend them off, but after I took out the ones baring my way to you, I had to give Vagner a hand … He wasn't doing to good, so I put him down,” The impostor states, his voice turning evil, even by Irken standards, by the last of his sentence.

“ _Get out of there Jar! That's an assassin! You're de-!_ ” Yol is cut off by Jar, his comm unit beeping to signal his interruption.

“I understand, and too bad too... I liked my commander,” Which was pretty much code for, 'Sorry sir, I can't obey that order'.

“I see, well, then I will just have to find her on my own, will you join me soldier?” _'Imposter Mol_ ' asks.

“Sorry sir, but I have my own objective to complete first, I'm sure you understand.”

“I do, _DIE!_ ”

“ _I do,_ DIE!” is the last thing Yol hears from her fellow Irken Loyalist before the sounds of plasma hitting walls and metal breaking cuts through the comm, static filling it not a moment later.

“Dammit Jar...,” Yol curses, her fist hitting the wall hard as she pulls away from the door and makes for the next best exit.

Running from room to room in the next adjacent hallway, Yol looks for the next best escape route -an open window.

Room 319, nothing of import. Room 320, nothing of import. Room 321, noth- large crate of food... Nothing that can be used currently. Room 322, Dead Irken with holdout blaster laying next to his cold corpse- ammo is compatible; acquiring. Room 323, welded window, nothing else of import. Room 324, door welded shut, no good. Room 325, Success!

Running inside, Yol sets down her smeet on the rooms bed. Opening up the swaddling, she checks him over for any injury.

“My, how you have grown little prince... Your mother... My sister... Would be proud of you,” She smiles gently, slowly checking him over in case of any injury. Finding none, she wraps him back up and takes him back into her arms. “Just be patient a while longer my little prince, you will be safe soon,” She coos.

Going back over to the door, she shuts it quietly and locks it, blasting the corners with her blaster to melt them to the door frame. She then shoots the hinges to add a little extra security. Going to the window, she opens it and looks outside.

Down below her is a long drop to the ground, though there is a large light pole not far from her to the right. It is just small enough around that she can use it to slide down to the ground.

Quickly making up her mind, she jumps form the fourth story window and clasps onto the pole, one armed, and slides down it with Smeet in hand. Cradling him against her body with all the dexterity of a cat, she jumps off the pole. Landing on her feet rather agilely, she makes a third sweep of the area, not wanting to miss anything important.

Looking at her current obstacle, she sighs. A large metal wall is all that now stands between her and her chance at 'victory'. The Smeetery right on the other side all but teases her with its proximity, but for the fact that she is determined does she not let it get to her.

“Alright, time for some serious hijinks...,” She smirks. Looking around she finds a large-ish shipping container filled with smaller metal boxes. Pulling a few out, she drags them to the wall. If not for the fact that on this night all the power was out, she would not be trying this very thing. With the top of the wall being, usually, electrified … This would have been an erroneous thing to do, but seeing as it was _not_ electrified, she will be able to get over without a problem.

After a few minutes of moving the heavy boxes around, she is finally done setting up her pyramid.

“What do you think My Prince? Sufficient?” She asks her little bundle, only getting a gurgling laugh out of him as an answer. Sighing at her failure at talking to the little smeet, she quickly scales the impromptu getaway structure.

Hopping up to the top of the wall, she looks down and is delighted at what she finds. Down on the ground is a large pile of pillows, ones that have been ripped apart by the other smeets that live inside the smeetery. Jumping down she lands in them softly. Both she and her little passenger giggle slightly in delight at all the different colored feathers that then float up around them.

“Not the neatest landing I've ever done, but it is the softest!” She sighs, letting the gravity of the situation roll over her again. Getting to her feet, Yol looks for her next course of action. Seeing a small access door off to the her right, she makes a run for it. Sliding up next to it, she knocks on the door, hoping someone will answer it so she can get in. Just her luck, someone does.

“Dammit Zax I'm not helping you sort those into a new pile! Get off your lazy-!” The short Irken stops short as a blaster engulfs his vision.

“Scream, and you die...,” Is Yol's only reply as she moves in around the small Irken and into the access tunnel. Keeping her pistol aimed on him at all times, she checks the rest of the tunnel before moving in completely. Seeing no one else, she turns to the Irken.

“Take me to the hatchery, I must get there at once,” She points down the corridor.

“Um... My lady Yol, it is a pleasure to see you again...,” The Irken smeetery worker stumbles out, his words rushed and sloppy.

“Now, traitor... Or your life is forfeit!” She growls, pushing the pistol into his head. Shaking his head in the affirmative quickly, the worker quickly, yet slowly, works his way around Yol, not wanting to get shot for a stupid move on his part. Getting between her and the rest of the corridor, he begins to lead her down it.

Quickly shutting the door behind her, Yol follows after him, their feet making light plinking noises against the metal plating of the floor.

Almost a half hour later, and after having been led on a, quite fanciful, trip through the bowls of the Smeetery, they arrive at the doors of the Hatchery.

Reaching forward, the worker opens the door for Yol, showing her the interior of the room before walking in himself and letting her pass. Motioning him away from the wall and farther into the room, she closes the door behind them. Looking at the lowly worker before her, she gives him a distinguishing look.

“Who is the master of this expanse...,” She asks, a sort of test to see if he is loyal to her lord, or if he is loyal to the traitors … Or if he is neither.

“His Lordship Tanith, who else My Lady?” The worker asks incredulously, as if he could imagine another Irken being in charge of the empire. His eyes, whose expressiveness was immense, told her nothing but the truth of his words.

“Good,” She slips the pistol back into her hip holster. “Lead me on to the smeeteries, I must complete my mission … Do not tell another of this.”

“If it is his Lordships wish, it shall be granted to the best of my ability!” The small worker replies with gusto, his body ramrod straight as he declares his own wishes on the matter.

“Good, now, lets go,” She shoos him onward, her eyes never leaving him as he leads her ever deeper into the bowls of the massive facility.

Walking down several corridors, and the occasional catwalk, the three come to a large open room. In the center of this room are several dozen large pillars filled with hundreds, if not thousands of small casket looking machines. Each one emitting a soft green glow from its central glass window. They were almost uncountable... And each one was alive with movement from within.

“Its been many years since I last saw this place My Lady... Is there anything else I can do for you?” The worker asks, his tone filled with awe at the amount of clones that had been errected in the last hundred years. All apart of a plan to bolster their peoples military with fresh recruits, all on the orders of their master. Tanith, the greatest Tallest the empire has ever known, had ordered the Smeeteries construction over a century ago, but now, its very same forces were going out and killing off those still loyal to him. He had foreseen a great danger to the Empire, before his death, that being for the creation of the Smeeteries … But now, it would seem that that threat was closer to home than he could have ever imagined.

With his death by the hands of his closest friend Lanith, the Empire was thrust into a sea of turmoil.

“That will be all... You may leave,” She waves him off, having come back from her trip into the past after seeing the hundreds of thousands of pods.

“As you wish my Mistress. Be safe!” He tells her before running out of the large room and back to his station.

Standing there, looking at her Lords greatest achievement, she felt a bit of a loss. Having seen how much he would give for his people, his own life among them, this was most likely his greatest gift... No civilian would have had to enter the academy any more and fight for their country, no mother would have to cry over their dead child's body, no father would have to bury their child, and no tears would be shed over the deaths of their neighbors.

“It was to be his crowning achievement … And now…,” Yol mutters, looking off to her right to see Mol, her bonded mate, walking towards her with a special Smeet chamber in hand. It is a long thing, roughly four feet in length with a large plate of glass in the center for viewing purposes. Over his back he has slung a PAK, something that both of them lack. It is ovoid in shape, and roughly the size of his head, which is about the size of a basket ball. Setting both of the pieces of equipment down, Mol opens up the special Smeet chamber.

“Well, it took you long enough,” Yol snarks, her brow ridges scrunching together in annoyance.

“Well, I had to stop by and take care of some asshat that thought he could use my name … I wasn't in time to save your friend though, sorry 'bout that,” Mol says with true sincerity as he begins setting up the chamber.

“He knew the risks … But thank you for trying...,” She mutters looking longingly at him. “Is that thing going to work Mol? I don't want to put the child in there and risk him being hurt,” Yol tells him, her misgivings coming to light about the plan.

“If we don't place him in here, we are then the ones signing his death warrant … Do you understand this Yol? We will be killing him,” Mol looks up at her, his large green eyes piercing her very soul as he looks at her.

“Fine … Is the hidden compartment ready?” Yol asks, looking between the special PAK and the Chamber.

“Yes, I just didn't want to add more weight to this thing just yet … It would be a hassle to move after that.”

“Oh, alright.”

Looking on as Mol finishes the last minute adjustments to the Chamber, Yol unwraps her charges head, letting him look around. His bright Ruby Red eyes take in everything as he looks into her own Blue sapphire eyes. Tiny hands reaching up, Yol lowers her own down for him to play with.

“My little Prince … You are an inquisitive one aren't you?” She asks, a small smile ghosting her lips as she lets the small smeet in her arms toy with her fingers. His own tiny hands barely big enough to even wrap around one of her clawed digits.

(Clang) “Alright Yol, the pod is ready... We can put him in now, and the pod will do the rest,” Mol says, whipping his greasy hands across his black tresses before wrapping his bonded upo in a close hug. Just enough room is between them for the Smeet to not get crushed.

“Alright Mol … Would you like the honors of putting him in, seeing as you haven't yet held you nephew?” She asks, a sad tone now souring her voice as she speaks.

“I would be glad to my mate.”

Picking up the smeet from Yol's arms, Mol gets a good look at him, his long antenna twitching inside the blanket while his needy hands sift through the confines of his fabric prison, looking for something new to hold onto.

“My sister in law, your mother, would be so happy to have gotten to know you, my little nephew...,” Mol says longingly, he himself missing the smeets parents much more than most. Seeing as he and his mate were actually related to the one time Emperor of the Irken Empire.

“I know we haven't gotten to really know each other my littlest nephew, but I would have been the one to spoil you rotten, along with your aunt Yol here … But now, without us, you will have to spoil yourself … My little Zim,” Mol smiles sadly, walking over to the Chamber so that he can place the small smeet inside.

“Be strong my little Zim, May the future we have carved for you … Be the best we could have given, given the circumstances,” Mol laughs sadly to his nephew as he lays him inside the pod.

“It is for the best Mol, we can't change the future now … Maybe if we had seen Lanith's betrayal...,” Yol trails off.

“It's fine Yol.”

“Goodbye Young Prince, We will never forget you!” Yol smiles.

“Of course, that means you can't forget us either, right little Zimmy?” Mol asks, kneeling down to poke the smeets belly, making him laugh in return.

“Hahah! Da! Ma!” The little smeet cries happily, looking at Mol and Yol respectively as he calls out.

Both Irkens freeze at his words, but only long enough for them to register. They quickly seal up his pod and let the Chambers cryogenic freeze take over. Yols hands, now wrapped up in the blanket Zim was just wrapped in, clutch at the fabric angrily as she listens to the horrified cries of their nephew as he is slowly sent into cryo-sleep.

“This had better keep him safe Mol … If he dies...,” she trails off, her eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“If he dies because of this … Then I would be upset if you _didn't_ kill me,” Mol says, a small smile etched on his stony face. “Now, lets go-” Right as Mol is about to urge them to leave, a large arm from the Smeetery comes out of the dark and picks up Zim's Pod, the large arm taking him up int into the darkness towards the back of the large facility.

“Did you plan that … Mol?” Yol asks, her eyes wide as she watches the facility work its way around to hide the very thing they had planned on doing themselves.

“No … I didn't … But it seems the facilities AI still holds loyalty to Tanith I guess,” Mol muses, not really wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth, he looks to his bonded and grips her arm. “Lets go, we have not I'm to dilly dally, if the traitors find us, we are dead, and so is Zim! Lets go!” And with that, they both leave the facility, running for their lives.

 

* * *

 

 

Ten Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith is crowned the “Almighty Tallest” after an aggressive campaign against his one time friend's allies and supporters.

20 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith and his many supporters squash the final remnants of Tanith's forces over the moon of Mork; ending the Coup and instating himself as the rightful ruler of the Irken Empire.

30 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith launched a massive expansionist campaign, almost doubling the Empires boarders over the course of a ten year period.

43 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith sent out an expeditionary force towards the neighboring galaxy.

45 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith splits the Military into three factions. The military, the general use forces that are sent out to mass invade a planet. The Elite Core, The “Almighty Tallests” own personal army of elite soldiers. The Invaders, a small division that takes the best of the army and trains them to become independent warriors of as high a caliber as the Elite, or better.

70 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith begets three sons, Mal, Cal, and Ral. They are his heirs.

79 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith looses his son Mal to a degenerative spinal disease. Both his other children also have symptoms of the disease and are put into intensive screening to figure out how to counteract it.

92 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith Lays his last son to rest, Ral, after having watched his children fall to the despicable disease that took his first.

107 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith fears for the same disease claiming any other parents child, in thinking this, he enacts the PAK line for all citizens. Anyone older than the age of 12 cannot receive the PAK, seeing as it will destroy their nerve-system and kill them. The population agrees with his precautions and implements it immediately.

120 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith clones two sons from a combination of his and his mates own genes, begetting two pairs of twins when something goes wrong. Lanith, faced with further complications in the future, prays to his race's diety “Hochest Herr” their so-called “ _Supreme Lord_ ” for guidance.

136 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith cries tears of joy when he finds his sons have no sign of the disease that had taken his first children. He finally gives them names. Halnith, Ranith, Narnith, and Pilnith.

140 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanth begins to school his sons in the art of leadership and warfare.

167 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith and his son Ranith travel to the far reaches of their Empire to quell an uprising from the Janasy; a race of jelly like beings that can survive the vacuum of space, they are highly intelligent and are capable of interstellar flight/combat. Pilnith, Narnith, and Halnith stay behind to guard the Empire and their Fathers seat of power.

168 Years After Tanith's Death – Halnith and Pilnith are made aware of a new threat coming in from the far reaches of their westward boundaries, seeing this, Halnith leaves his brother in charge of Home and goes out to confront the new menace before it can cause much damage.

174 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith, and his son Ranith, return from their campaign against the Janasy. Coming home, they hear of Haliths fight against the new enemy on the other side of their territory. Leaving his war weathered son, Ranith, at home, Lanith takes Pilnith and goes to aid his eldest son.

176 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith, Hanith, and Pilnith are forced to retreat from a heavily populated star system, having lost a large portion of their fleet when a new player entered the war and caught Hanith off guard with a sneak attack.

176 years nine months later – The Empire learns of one of their foes' names. The Resistance, a group of several different races bent on the downfall of the “Corrupt Irken Empire and the Vengeance of High King Tanith” all lead by their “Father of the Resistance” Tracker Rem Yolun, of “TRY” as many like to call him. Along with his Mate, the “Mother of the Resistance” Malafor Omnica Malcious, or “MOM” as the Resistance likes to call her.

177 Years After Tanith's Death – hundreds of planets have joined the Resistance, while the secondary faction remains unnamed.

200 Years After Tanith's Death – The forces of the Resistance and the Empire have come to a stand still, Lanith and his sons arguing amongst themselves on how to kill their enemy.

221 Years After Tanith's Death – Hanith is slayed in battle, his Falgship, “ _Irk's Unrest_ ” was brought down by a single thousand megaton bomb to the engines. Loosing power, the ship sailed low and plunged bow first into the planet, Calata, below.

261 Years After Tanith's Death – Ranith finds a mate. His twin brother, Pilnith, also finds a mate. Both are then forced to stay away from the front lines until they themselves have produced an Heir of suitable health to take their place.

274 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith, in all his infinite wisdom, declares that they will be increasing Clone production. Instead of a hundred thousand Clones a year, the facilities, and all the new ones being produced, will create an approximate two million clones in a year. This is met with both skepticism and doubt, though many see it as a step forward in defeating their enemies.

285 Years After Tanith's Death – 11 years have passed since Lanith enacted his Cloning act. With it coming into full effect in the 278th year of his reign, Lanith's plan has created over 14 million clones for his armies. And with the capture of several dead worlds, the production will increase almost threefold.

315 Years After Tanith's Death – Narnith comes out of the Home system and utterly destroys a Resistance armada in the Lamina System, his own seven Siege battle ships taking on and utterly obliterating the enemies twenty destroyer class ships in a matter of hours. He is given commendations for his prestigious actions and quickly becomes the peoples favorite for Heir Apparent to the throne.

338 Years After Tanith's Death – Tragedy strikes when Pilnith is assassinated by a rogue religious figure. The assassin was quickly apprehended and executed for his crime against the Empire. Lanith and his two remaining sons, and their mates, mourn publicly for their brothers death. Out of the seven attending Imperial Family members, only five of them cry; Lanith and his mate, Narnith and his mate, and Ranith's mate... The other two look on as if in shock and are unable to express their emotions on the matter.

342 Years After Tanith's Death – Narnith and Ranith are both begotten with twins, a Son and Daughter each. Much celebration is done and a new age is predicted by many of the people of Irk and her colonies.

367 Years After Tanith's Death – Lanith, his Sons; Ranith and Narnith, and his grandsons; Vena and Sarn, are heralded as the greatest generation of leaders the Empire has seen in over ten Millennia.

408 Years After Tarnith's Death – The line of Lanith is wiped out. Everyone to the last woman and child has been killed in their sleep. None know who the perpetrator is, but a power vacuum -the size of which has not been seen since Tanith's death- now covers the Empire.

412 Years After Tarnith's Death – One Irken, of the name Phema, has taken the throne as his own. The people herald him as the reincarnation of their fallen king and praise him for his victory over the ones that had assassinated the late royal family.

428 Years After Tanith's Death – Phema proclaims a new breeding regime for the entire Empire. No more procreation will take place! Billions of citizens are outraged, but when they are told that they may mate with their bonded ones all they wish, they conceded. A strategy of cloning the forever oncoming generations is now instituted. From hence forth … There shall never be a True Born child in the Empire, sans those that are made by the Emperor and those he favors.

453 Years After Tanith's Death – Phema creates the “Control Brains”. A special construct that takes the Brain of a fallen Irken and turns it into a Living machine. They will be used to monitor the Smeeteries, patrol security feeds, and direct other non essential functions of society.

573 Years After Tanith's Death – Phema passes on to the after life, his throne is now passed onto his Son and Heir, Cain. His three brothers now act as his Generals in the fight against the Resistance.

783 Years After Tanith's Death – Irk is besieged by the Resistance, Father of the Resistance “Tracker Rem Yolun A.K.A 'TRY'” ransacks the Historical center and leaves with most of the Empires historical data regarding previous Ruling Families and their descendants. Along with the list of last known True Born citizens on record.

829 Years After Tanith's Death – The Empire has lost another great Ruler, Ma'gog, he is Replaced by his Tallest, Almighty Tallest Fai.

860 Years After Tanith's Death – Fai institutes the Rule of Next Tallest Ascension. This ensures that there is always a Irken in charge at all times. No matter the situation.

935 Years After Tanith's Death – The Control Brains have been given the prerogative to choose the next Tallest when it comes to Leadership for the Empire, as long as the Public agrees with the selection, it will be allowed.

1,000 Years After Tanith's Death – The last True Born has died, leaving the rest of the population to the Clones.

2,446 Years After Tanith's Death – The Resistance is Deafeated at Tanis IX.

2,841 – Years After Tanith's Death – Almighty Tallests Red and Purple have been named Co-Emperors of the Empire. Their rule is absolute and unwavering! Who wants Snacks?!

 

* * *

 

 

[ _Running Operating Check - #124512/a3c2] … … … …_ [ _System Found_ ] _… … …_ [ _Smeet Chamber #a31e830240213_ ] _… … … … … …_ [ _Life Support Failing_ ] _… …_ [ _Retrieving Smeet Chamber #a31e830240213_ ] … … … … [ _Unknown PAK System Found – Removing PAK System – Running PAK Diagnostic_ ] … … … … … … [ _Diagnostic Complete – Unknown PAK Identified – Designation/ID = Heir of the Empire_ ] … … … … … [ _Rewriting PAK Designation/ID – Lost Son Of Tan_ ] … … … … [ _Smeet Designation A31-213 = Zim – PAK Designation/ID Lost Son Of Tan – Complete Designation = Zim The Last Son_ ] … … … [ _Cry_ _o_ _genic_ _Sleep Deteriorating – Starting Up Defrost Cycle_ ] … … … [ _All Hail_ His _Son – Zim!_ ]

The chamber containing Zim quickly shuffles through the many arms of the Smeeteries Sole Control Brain. As it moves Zim about, the Control Brain sifts through the many different protocols the PAK's designers setup within it. Hundreds of contingency plans, several dozen bank accounts filled to the brim with Imperial credits, seven hardline codes, and a base design for an Irken Imperial Dress Suit.

Bringing the Small chamber over to the birthing ring, the CB(Control Brain) readies the different tools and nutrient bags for the small Smeets rehabilitation into a stable livable state. Setting the PAK down on a long bench, the CB gets to work setting up the Chamber to readily release its cargo.

With a jolt of electricity, the chamber shutters, once, twice, thrice, and then opens its large glass viewing ports to let the CB extract the Smeet within. Using its padded three-fingered graspers, the CB gently encompasses the small living being in its large fingers. Raising the Smeet up and out, the CB gently lays him on the resuscitation bench.

From there, the CB quickly goes about placing the necessary needles, tubes, and burn pads on the small Irken's body. Hooking up the nutrient drips and IVs, the CB continues to monitor the small Irkens health. Readying skin graphs, the CB charges up the micro laser.

Targeting the dead sections of skin, the CB begins the removal of dead tissue. Most of the Freezer burn is located around Zim's sides and groin, where his arms and legs were rubbing against each other inside the pod. One of the worst spots though is the back of his head, where his head used to rest against the padding of the Chamber.

Finishing up with the impromptu laser surgery, the CB quickly applies the skin graphs. Layering them over each spot carefully, it applies a thin layer of artificial stem cells to help speed up the acceptance of the new skin layers.

After layering on the many different patches, the Cb takes an overall diagnostic of Zim's person.

[ _Scanning Features – Irken Smeet – Identification = Zim The Last Son_ ]

[ _Features – Skin Tone = Light Green – Arms = Normal Length & Four Digits{Irregular – Normal = Three} – Legs = Normal Length & Four Digits{Irregular – Normal = Three} – Head = Normal size & Ruby Red Eyes{Special Feature = Irken Royalty = Stricken From Record} – Body Shape = Normal_] … … … … … … … … [Cataloging Process Complete – Further _Cataloging to be done at later date = To Be Determined_ ]

Done with its scan, it returns to nursing him, rapidly, back to health.

[ _Fluid Levels = Nominal_ ]

[ _Body Toxin Levels = Minimal_ ]

[ _Heart Rate = Nominal_ ]

[ _Brain Activity = Extraordinary_ ] … … … … [ _Scans Confirm Higher Brain Functionality – Above Average Smeet To Be Expected From Subject “_ Zim The Last Son _”_ ]

[ _Estimated Time Till Completed Healing = Twenty Three_ _H_ _ours_ _A_ _nd_ _Thirty-Eight Minutes_ ]

[ _Activating Vocal Subroutine Alpha-Chi-213 = Speakers Operational_ ]

“ _Welcome to the world Little one … 'I'_ ” The CB stops, bringing a telescopic eye bauble down to better view the small Irken. “ _'I' will call you 'Zim' … Yes … That is a good name … It fits you rather well, Zim...,_ ” The CB stops again, reprocessing what its subroutine is telling it. “ _Ah … I see … You_ are _him, Zim The Last Son … Very well then, all record of your title shall be stricken from the database, you are now Zim …_ Our _Child of Creation...,_ ” The Control Brain tilts its 'Eye' curiously at the smeet, watching as its large Ruby Red eyes open and search the room.

“Ma … Ma … Pa … Pa …?” The Smeet asks, his eyes watering slightly as he sees none there but the emptiness of the factory, his only comfort being the soothing voice of his invisible caregiver.

“ _Rest Zim,_ Our _Child Of Creation … You are safe here,_ ” The CB says, one of its many mechanical arms coming down to stroke the Smeet's face as it goes off to sleep once again.

 

 

 


End file.
